Victim
by MelodyPond77
Summary: He knew he was special, because there was a pocket built into her purse just for him.


**One-Shot Wars**

Rita Skeeter and personified Quik Quotes Quill

Plot 3: 'One of the characters discovers the other cheating on them'

WC: 922

* * *

He knew he was special, because there was a pocket built into her purse just for him.

(It was really there for any and all quills, but he didn't know that).

It thrilled him every single time she wanted to write a story - suddenly, the bag would snap open and light would pour in like the gleam of a thousand angels, two green pincers would descend in waves of glory and grasp his body and then he would be tip to paper, scribbling down words in any particular order. It didn't matter what he wrote, not to him, so long as he was writing.

(So long as he was writing for her).

She made him feel alive, Rita Skeeter, a name he only knew because he signed it for her with every flourish. He begged the Quill Gods every day for a chance to write something for her. It made him feel alive when he could write something slanderous. She was such a nice mistress, and she never chided him for taking liberties on the words of those she interviewed.

(She didn't chide him because frankly, she didn't care).

Sometimes, she would even speak to him. "We've got him now!" she would say as he was drawn from her dragon skin purse. And then off they would go, working as a team, she with her inherently nosy questions and he with his precisely dotted 'i's and sharply crossed 't's.

(But no quill can maintain such sharp 't's for very long).

* * *

Some days he would try to hear things from within her bag as they traveled through England, reporting on newsworthy stories. A lot of times he couldn't hear much, only snatches, but sometimes, if she put him ears up and her purse was unsnapped, he could hear entire conversations. He loved listening to those conversations, because he imagined she was saying things for his benefit, so he could get to know her better.

(She wasn't).

This particular day was sunny and cheerful and bright, which were all indications that it must be a good day. The Quill knew how the stories went. Nothing went wrong on sunshine-y, beautiful days like this one.

(He forgot this wasn't a story).

"Baby, dahling, my favorite shopkeeper!" the Quill heard his wonderful mistress say through the unsnapped opening of the purse.

 _Oh boy, a story on some scandal with a shopkeeper! Maybe he's cheating people out of their money! Maybe he's sleeping with his assistant!_

"Bobby, dahling, can you show me some of those new utensils you've gotten in recently? This one's getting a bit dull," the Quill heard, and he frowned from inside the purse. This didn't sound like some scandal that was going to be fun to write about. He settled deeper into the purse and got ready to snooze.

"Sure thing, Miss Skeeter. We've got some new quills coming in - this here is the faster version of the Quik Quotes Quill; it writes down everything you say and edits it for you along the way! Perfect for a busy journalist like you. And this one here will read it back to you when it's done..." the shopkeeper began, and the Quill quivered in fear from within the purse.

(He'd never quivered in fear before. Only excitement).

"Oh my! I do love the look of that editing one, Bobby!" Rita cackled from above. "Do let me try one out on a bit of parchment."

There was a rustling sound from above, and the Quill could feel himself growing angrier. _He_ was Rita Skeeter's famous green quill, _he_ was her faithful servant, _he_ helped her write her scandalous stories. Not some snooty, upstart little thing like the "Self-Editing Quill". Why, his name didn't even _sound_ as good as the Quik Quotes'!

(But Rita never cared about the name - only the style).

"Bobby, what great fun! I'd love that one! Come, ring one up for me and I'll toss out the old one now!"

With a silent battle cry (he wasn't nearly advanced enough to have a voice), the Quik Quotes Quill sprung from his little pocket in Rita's purse and flung himself at the little usurper, his dull point ready to shred the sparkling green feather.

 _You won't steal my mistress! I'll serve her forever! She'll love me even if I'm dull and useless, because we were amazing together! YAAAAAAAAAA-_

Sharp talons caught at his middle and yanked him away from the shining rival. "Oh, dear, Bobby, it's an oddity that your Quills always malfunction at the end. It's like they have a mind of their own! I swear, they only attack other Quills when I try to buy a new one!"

She turned the struggling Quill towards her face, smiling ravenously. "Quill, dahling, stop it. All good things must come to an end. Everything dies - even Quills," she said carelessly, and she snapped the Quill in half with a snap, tossing it into the waste bin.

"Thanks, Bobby. See you in a few," she said, and then the Quill was watching as her green robes were swishing out of the store, leaving his broken and crumpled body behind.

He'd thought he was special, because there was a pocket built into her purse just for him.

(Now he knew it was only for her next victim).


End file.
